Lead The Way
by JonasGrant
Summary: UNSC Army Rangers of the 75th Regiment, H Company, find themselves on a planet-wide version of Afghanistan, outnumbered, out gunned and cut off from Earth. They may be stranded, but so are their foes, and their leader has been fighting since before the Spartan II even existed.
1. Chapter 1

The M6J dug in his shoulder uncomfortably and he shifted his grip slowly, careful not to make a sound.

The grunts up ahead barked like dogs, quarrelling over the burnt remains of a Marine sniper.

"Command, this is Hammer Actual," He whispered in his headset, "we've got visual on your runner, he's down."

Command, all the way back at Fort Aleksandre, sighed in the radio, her cold and unwavering voice booming a quarter of minute later. "Copy, Rangers, green light to engage, get that kid home."

Colonel Blackburn released the fore grip of his Carbine and signaled for 2-2 and 2-5 to get in positions.

New Cheops was, officially, only thirty kilometers wide, but slums like the one they were in spread over hundreds of kilometers. Hollowed out busses, stalls, shacks, outhouses and the odd brick wall spread all over that area, the very concept of a street laughable in the circumstances.

All five Covies, yapping before Blackburn's sights, were actually in a cluster of rags and wooden frames that might have passed for tents before they were shot up. He could see them, but should they shift, even slightly, to the right or left, he'd lose visual and end up starring at rags flapping in the wind.

2-2 and 2-5 were taking up flanking positions, so that when Blackburn and his platoon opened fire, they little bastards couldn't just dive to cover.

Three platoons and the Company commander had been deployed for this, just this one Marine. Whoever that kid might be, or might be carrying, command wanted it bad.

First platoon, comprised of three logistic support and two Spec Ops squads remained with the Colonel, seventy meters out, crawling in an old market, long range motion trackers and comm. Arrays taking up all available space.

Second platoon, an advanced recon infantry unit, had four fireteams out on the field, flanking the small bunch of apes, while three more stuck with third platoon in a diversion attack to the north. They were doing well enough, just keeping the Covies pissed and backing off the moment things got heated.

The moment they dropped the pressure, however, this place would be crawling with split-chins.

At six meters to either of his flanks were his Spec Ops squads, the best Rangers he could coax into joining his platoon, aiming down the sight of their own weapons and ready to blast a piece of those tangos.

A lot of fuss for what could essentially have been resolved by a shot from Hammer 1-2 Actual's forty mike-mike under slung launcher, but Blackburn was a cautious man and especially loved by his troops for that attitude.

"This is Hammer Actual, all platoons, sound off." It was an unnecessary request, as there had been no new development, but he liked to remind his men he was right there, looking over their shoulder and laughing at their every mistake.

"Hammer 1-1," His X-O spoke in a monotone drone, "all clear, Colonel."

Next up was Lieutenant Norrison, speaking in a calm Texan drawl, "Hammer 2-1, no cashu-all-tees, yer gon' have to ask 2-3 an' 2-5 yerself, Co'nel, over."

"Hammer 3-1," The last response came from Lieutenant Laurent, spoken with hints of Jamaican and French accent, "nothing to report, Colonel, this be a walk in the park."

Nodding to himself, Blackburn switched the safety off, signaling the others to do the same. He did not call the flanking squads, they would have enough to worry about, and instead waited for them to report.

Hammer Company, which he commanded, had been assembled from the remnants of a Ranger Battalion an Army Mechanized Infantry Division and an Armored platoon, the whole commanded by a freshly promoted Colonel still getting used to his previous Major boots.

Rag tag didn't even cover it. An Infantry Company would be comprised of three Rifle platoons and a Heavy weapons platoon, Mechanized would be three Rifle platoons and a Command group and a Support Company, which they were now designated as, would have any number of specialized platoons depending on the role.

Hammer had five Rifle platoons, a Command unit, two Heavy weapon groups, an Armored platoon and two Special Forces squads.

This told Blackburn two things:

First, the command chain is a clusterfuck.

Second, platoon is the single most nerve grating word in military jargon.

"Hammer 2-5 in position." The whisper was accompanied by so much static, Hammer Actual almost had 2-5 repeat, to be sure.

He keep his finger off the radio, taking a deep breath instead.

2-3 followed soon after and, suddenly, Blackburn's job resumed itself to a single word, "Fire."

This was no stand up fight, no blaze of glory with bullets hissing everywhere; thirty Rangers opened fire simultaneously on five Grunts, shredding the ape-like creatures to ribbons and finishing off the wounded without pause. In three seconds, it was done and 2-3 was making its way to the Marine.

"Hammer 3 Actual, this is Hammer Actual," Called the Colonel as he saw his Rangers put the Marine on a stretcher, "package retrieved, head for checkpoint Delta, fall back by stages." He did not wait for confirmation and switched to Hammer 5, "Lieutenant Cody, package retrieved, we're falling back to Delta for EVAC, over."

The Lieutenant confirmed that his Warthogs were en route and Blackburn signaled his command staff to pack up the hardware.

His knees creaked as he got off the trash heap, causing a groan to escape the man's lips.

At forty-five, Joel Blackburn should not have felt this old, but by god if he didn't feel a hundred right now.

A lifetime of fighting, all of his adult life, had most likely sped up the aging process. His temples were silver now, a bit of black still poking out the top of his brush cut, but barely enough for someone to guess what color his hairs had once been. As for his face, well, it was hard distinguishing scars from wrinkles.

Blackburn felt tired now, as he had for the last quarter century, always so damn tired… But that could not get in the way, there were three hundred kids under him that trusted the Colonel to bring them home or, failing that, make their death meaningful.

He'd never asked for the job, didn't care for it one bit and couldn't figure out why anyone would, but that meant sweet fuck all to the General and the UNSC. They needed someone with cast iron balls and nerves made out of tungsten out in the field to lead this mess and trash talk the Covenant into acting polite.

Major Blackburn, famous for walking up to a fortified position with just an IR beacon and strolling back to his lines while orbital strikes tore the place apart, seemed to fit the bill.

2-3 emerged from the darkness in between a hollowed bus and chest high concrete wall. They swept the market with their weapons and quickly joined the first platoon's defensive perimeter.

Blackburn had two of his staff check on the Marine, taking over the stretcher with a nod to the two carriers.

They performed the ritual; pulse, blood type, tags and ammo… Then one cursed.

Soldiers swear all the time, but whenever Blackburn was around, they had better do it well and for a purpose. "Status?" He barked, towering over the men as they hastily, almost feverishly, went to work, requesting IVs and gauze and biofoam.

"Tough SOB's still kicking!" He kneeled closer to the injured Marine. A plasma bolt had caught him in the midsection, cauterizing a plate sized, fist deep crater in his stomach. Blackburn turned to the kid's face, chalk white and soaked with sweat.

The man's green eyes fluttered open and his mouth moved, though no sounds came out. He cringed when the IV's needle pierced his skin and, delirious from blood lost, tried to get it out.

"Tell him to calm down!" The improvised medic, a signal specialist named West, hissed to his superior.

Black just nodded and took the wounded's hand in his. "It's all good, Marine, you did your job, we'll handle the rest, just relax, we'll have you back home in time for dinner."

The boy's lips moved and weak sounds rasped out. "What's that, son?" Asked the Colonel, leaning closer.

The Marine repeated, "Who's cooking?"

This was such an unusual question, so unexpected, Black could only smile. "The Navy."

"Oh, just kill me already…" That last one was loud enough for the medics to hear and they too cracked grins at that…

"Is he mobile?"

"Define mobile…" West had issues with authority, but once you knew him, really just wanted to do his job and be left alone, so Black cut him some slack.

"Can we, with the means available to us, get him to Delta?"

"Yeah, but he's not getting off that stretcher any time soon."

"Good enough, you and Robertson carry him," He turned, raising his voice back to its usual level and roared orders to the rest of them.

You have to yell on the battlefield, lest your instructions be misunderstood and a dozen kids get slaughtered because you wanted to sound polite. Helmet radios linked him to every member of the force, but radios could stutter, fail or break.

Blackburn's voice did none of these things. "I want this done by the book, gentlemen! Check your corners, call in anything you see and for god's sake, somebody wake up Demetro!" The sleeping sniper was slapped awake, not making a sound except a quiet yawn.

"Good! Now we're moving to checkpoint Delta, I want a controlled fallback by stages. Hammer 1-2 and 1-3 will take point, 1-4 and 1-1 will follow, 2-3 and 2-5've got the rear, Ou-ah?"

There were forty-four "Ou-ah!" in response and the two Spec Ops squads, six-member teams, left the market with guns raised and safeties off.

"Third Platoon, talk to me."

There were some statics on the line and Laurent's voice came through, as though from the distance, "I don't want to talk about it now, Colonel!"

Plasma fire could clearly be heard in the background, but without tactical overlays or long range motion trackers, Blackburn had to rely on the Lieutenant's inflexions and his own guts to gauge the situation.

Manageable, he decided before moving up at 1-2's signal. Officially, Blackburn was part of Hammer 1-1, comprised of West's SIGSPEC team and Major Dahl, Black's XO. 1-4, led by First Sergeant Caleb, was the Company's administrative force; Supplies, readiness NCOs, support AI, so on, making 1-2 and 1-3 the only actual combat units of his Platoon.

So Sergeant Caleb's men acted as security while Lieutenant West's boys hauled expensive hardware and an injured Marine through the battered shanty town.

No sign of Covies so far, but they would try to spread out and flank third platoon, and when they did, Blackburn's men would be right in their way. That's when the real fun would begin.

"Hammer 5, this is Hammer Actual, three's taking fire, what's your ETA?"

He kneeled behind a pile of tires, so worn the metal netting inside poked out in places. God damn ghetto, there was junk all over the place and he couldn't see anything but trash beyond ten paces. He could see through doorways, alleys and windows, but in this place, everything looked like a Covenant in hiding.

"Hammer Actual, Hammer 5, give us five mikes, we're encountering some light resistance." The Lieutenant sounded more pissed than anything else. Probably Jackals and Grunts.

"Copy that, Ham…" 1-2 reported contact and everyone stopped moving. "1-1, out."

Black's M6J came up and he peered above the tires. West's boys were at his back, but he had no visual on anyone or anything else.

"1-2, where?" When the Colonel whispered, people of his command staff had a tendency to get very nervous, for some reason.

West and Robertson put down the stretcher and readied their MA37s, facing opposite directions but staying close to the injured Marine.

"Nine o'clock, full patrol, three LAVs, four split-lips, over a dozen birds and more apes than I can count."

"Have they spotted us?"

"Negative, but they're heading our way in a hurry…"

1-2 was set up to the right, the Covies were coming in with light vehicles and infantry, coming from the left… 1-3 hadn't spotted them, so they'd be coming in from straight ahead, in between the two groups.

"Hold your fire, everyone, let them pass."

The Covies would be sticking to open terrain, most likely the tramway tracks, kept clear by overzealous civilian militias up to this point… Not clear of Covenant, these amateurs with their MA3s and SCAR-Ls couldn't stand up to a cluster of Grunts. No, they were shooting other bums who tried to set up their houses on the five meters wide empty area on either side of the tracks.

1-3 was on his side of the gap, 1-2 most likely had crossed it first and the rest of the platoon, clustered in a junkyard that might as well have been someone's home, had yet to cross.

The Covenant had come up behind 1-2. This could have gone very bad, but now, they had them outflanked from every side, though with only four combat squads and at extreme close range, the odds were far too even for Blackburn to try them.

"Hammer Actual, this is Command, what's your status?"

From the tracks, ten meters ahead, came a low hum of gravitational engine, followed by nervous yapping and cautious growls. They were nervous, but in too much of a hurry to be careful.

"Not now, General."

"Colonel, the Navy has enacted Cole Protocol, I need this package ten minutes ago!"

That did not click in Black's mind. So what? He looked at the pale Marine, wondering what role he had to play in all this. What could he be carrying? If the Navy enacted Cole Protocole, that meant bugging out and burning all databanks, why would the General want whatever some grunt carried?

"Ma'am, I'm going to need a no-bullshit assessment here, what's going on." It is a hard feat, sounding authoritarian while keeping one's voice low.

For a moment, it sounded as though the General wouldn't give it to him, but she came through again, caution and weariness audible in her voice. "I think the package could save this colony, but if the Navy burns all databanks before we get it, we're fucked, you have twenty minutes to get here, now _move!_"

Orders, to a lifer such as Blackburn, were as sacred as scriptures to a jihadist, but unlike the religious fanatic, wasting his kid's life was not glorious.

"Everyone switch to CQC, we're commandeering those vehicles."

There were a few curses and he pulled his old M90/LE, a pump action shotgun with rifle grip and a duck-beak choke screwed to the tip. Smaller, lighter pellets flew out and deformed on impact while the illegal choke add-on shaped the pellet in an horizontal line. The result, just like the gun, was downright ugly.

On the side, painted with red decal, was a Daffy Duck quote: _"Of Courth You Realithe Thith Meanth War!"_

West and his SIGSPECs stayed back with 2-3 while Black took 2-5 closer. Soon, the Covies would be out of their involuntary ambush, he had to move fast.

Once again, he found himself wishing for a situation when he could actually use some explosives, but now they needed the vehicles intact…

"I'm too old for this…" Caleb scoffed and pumped a shell in his under slung shotgun, a smile on his face clearly showing he knew what the Colonel's next orders would be. Black stood at full height, five meters from a hunched shadow opening the way for the Covenant convoy.

"Rangers, lead the way!" And off he went, boots crushing junk at every step. He rammed into a cluster of sheet metal, tacked to flimsy wooden supports, and emerged three steps from the Elite.

The first blast knocked out its shields and shredded its weapon; the next severed its head above the jaw. Black turned left, facing the Covenant forces, two or three dozen plasma weapons aimed at him.

"God damn you bastards are ugly!" He roared, pumping out shells from an upright position. "Who wants _reconstructive surgery?!_"

1-2, 1-3 and 2-5 opened fire at the same time the Covenant did, a split second after "…surgery?!" and Black remained upright, pumping out shells from out in the open as if this were a mere duck hunt.

Elites knew him not to be the real threat, and focused their fire elsewhere, but to Grunts and Jackals, getting peppered by tiny balls that shredded skin and sparked against weapons, Blackburn was the freaking boogey man, so they focused their panicked fire on him.

An Elite manning a mounted plasma canon on the front Spectre tried to bring the Colonel down, but three shots from Caleb's Marksman Rifle sent his twitching carcass on the floor.

The Grunts and Jackals at the front of the convoy were practically being eroded by _Daffy Duck's _steady firepower, the ones at the back unable to help their mangled by living brethren without either shooting through them or breaking cover, where they would be slaughtered themselves.

A few, horrified by the spurting arteries and deformed limbs, as well as the pinches and hisses of ricochets, ran off in the distance, screaming.

Of the four Elites, one remained when Black reached the Spectre Fast Assault Vehicles. The thing uncloaked a step behind him, energy sword in hand, and was swiftly _aerated_ by Demetro's SRS99C.

_Daffy Duck_'s barrel glowed light orange by that point and survivors of the ambush, mangled and broken, begged for mercy as the Rangers left cover, coldly finishing them off along the way.

"Dahl," He turned to his XO, who's own rifle smoked softly, "Take Hammer 1-1 and head back to base."

The answer was simple, but carried some measure of disagreement. "Ou-ah." Dahl would never question Blackburn in front of the men, but he clearly didn't appreciate being told to leave most of his men behind.

Black turned to 1-2 Actual, Sergeant Delacroix, who stood straighter when she noticed, but there was nothing for him to criticize. Instead, he took advantage of the peace before the storm to perform a little speech. Not from high up, he just walked around his men, buzzy checking or packing their gear, and spoke with his usual thundering voice.

"Rangers, you did me proud today! I want you all to take a deep breath and look around. No matter what they say in the history books, or what happens ten years from now, this," He kicked a dead Elite's chin, it's neck twisting at an odd angle as a result, "this victory, is yours, you did this! Never forget that! On June of twenty-five fifty-two, you were in New Cheops and Colonel Joel Blackburn was proud of every last one of you! Ou-ah!"

And they all responded with "Ou-ah!"s of their own.

Hammer 1-1 left soon after, following the tracks much as the Covenants had, only at top speed and the Spectres overloaded with troops.

Reloading _Daffy_, Black followed the rest of his forces to Checkpoint Delta.

[[UNSCDF HIGHCOM CENT/Main]

[75 ARMY RANGER]]

.

..

...

_[Rangers Lead The Way!]_

[H Company. Dt/rost.]

Hammer Company: Col. Blackburn/ Mjr. Dahl

Hammer 1 = Command Group, SIGSPEC, SpecOps

Hammer 1-1: Lt. West  
Hammer 1-2: Sgt. Delacroix  
Hammer 1-3: Sgt. Krauser  
Hammer 1-4: 1st Sgt. Caleb  
Hammer 1-5: KIA

Hammer 2 = Rifle Platoon

Hammer 2-1: Lt. Norrisson  
Hammer 2-2: Sgt. Peterson  
Hammer 2-3: Sgt. Endrose  
Hammer 2-4: Sgt. Frank  
Hammer 2-5: Sgt. Keller

Hammer 2 = Heavy Weapons Platoon

Hammer 3-1: Lt. Laurent  
Hammer 3-2: Sgt. Jackson  
Hammer 3-3: Sgt. Ortega  
Hammer 3-4: Sgt. Vargas  
Hammer 3-5: Sgt. Orlev

Hammer 4 = Rifle Platoon

Hammer 4-1: Sgt. Carter  
Hammer 4-2: Cpl. Wilkins  
Hammer 4-3: Cpl. Beauprés  
Hammer 4-4: PFC. Smith  
Hammer 4-5: PFC. Gosinov

Hammer 5 = Armored/Mechanized Platoon

Hammer 5-1: Lt. Cody  
Hammer 5-2: Sgt. Beller-Faust  
Hammer 5-3: Cpl. Mendez  
Hammer 5-4: Sgt. Jones  
Hammer 5-5: Sgt. Higgs

Hammer 6 = Rifle Platoon

Hammer 6-1: Cpt. Pierce  
Hammer 6-2: Lt. Tchenkov  
Hammer 6-3: Sgt. Volker  
Hammer 6-4: Sgt. Tennison  
Hammer 6-5: Sgt. Xian

Hammer 7 = Rifle Platoon

Hammer 7-1: Lt. Cole  
Hammer 7-2: Sgt. Hoyt  
Hammer 7-3: Sgt. Steel-Halls  
Hammer 7-4: KIA  
Hammer 7-5: Sgt. Lafayette

Hammer 8 = Rifle Platoon

Hammer 8-1: Lt. Shen  
Hammer 8-2: Sgt. Coste  
Hammer 8-3: KIA  
Hammer 8-4: KIA  
Hammer 8-5: Cpl. Webbs

Hammer 9 = Heavy Weapons Platoon

Hammer 9-1: Lt. Carpenter  
Hammer 9-2: Sgt. Wilson  
Hammer 9-3: Cpl. Turner  
Hammer 9-4: Sgt. Popov  
Hammer 9-5: Sgt. Mbanta

**A/N: I'll keep that roster updated, for your sake and mine, because a Company is a huge goddamn force and I can't make all section leaders memorable. **


	2. Chapter 2

The Spectres raced over the track, their gravity engines screaming as they went. Dahl sat in the head vehicle while West had the third and last, his gunner going wild on the plasma cannon.

These were old models, like the ones Hammer Company had fought on Sigma Octanus, with a pilot and co-pilot seat meant for Grunts or jackals, in addition to the turret and seats on the wings. Five passengers top. They all carried eight.

Plasma shots pinged off their windshield and bumpers. Soldiers, crammed on board, did their best to keep out of the fire and return the favour to the colorful blurs as they sped by.

Corporal Willis held the wheel of Dahl's vehicle while the major tried to raise someone with eyes in the sky or guns with enough range to provide support.

"All air assets are currently engaged, Hammer 1-1, you're on your own. Command out." Came the matter-of-fact answer.

Dahl shook his head and muttered, to himself, "Well fuck you too!" Then, to Willis, "Corporal, slow down, I need to figure out where we're at!"

"Yes, sir…" The vehicle decelerated to a less breakneck pace and, instantly, the intensity of incoming fire increased exponentially. Fuel rods exploded against the hull of their vehicle and a Carbine pellet went right through Dahl's leg and into Willis' shoulder.

"Fuck! Punch it, Corporal!"

"But you said…" Someone in the rear vehicle shouted something about being shot and West told her to suck it up.

"I know what I said, _punch it!_"

And they once again sped up to a blur. Dahl inspected his leg, which didn't even bleed, and injected so biofoam into Willis' shoulder.

"Dude! Get that thing out first!" Whined the Ranger, forgetting all about proper protocol when addressing a superior, "I wanna have mini-mes one day, you know?"

This was not a Corporal to Major exchange, but a Ranger to Ranger one. Dahl squeezed the man's forearm and gave him a short nod.

"Buddy, if you don't get sterile by all that plasma flying around, depleted Uranium won't do it."

Needler rounds smacked and bounced against the hood as Willis snickered, "Real smooth, sir, I feel much better, thanks!"

They flew in an arc, the tracks taking a right turn into the city, and found themselves thirty meters from a Wraith mortar tank, its main gun already warm and both coaxial turrets blazing.

Plasma bolts ripped through their windshield and one clipped the gunner's knee, though the kid barely took notice and just kept firing his own turret into the beast.

Willis did not stop and Dahl yelled something about going left, so he did, ripping through shacks and tents like a bulldozer in a Super-Mart.

The Wraith fired, a blue orb gracefully making its way toward the second vehicle, but it too turned left and the plasma bomb exploded right in front of West's Spectre, which vanished in a cloud of electric smoke.

The radio filled with "We lost Victor 3!" And "West is down!" and other similar exclamations. Then, the Spectre, its hood and windshield scorched, pierced the smoke to follow its brethren, leaving the Wraith to blindly pump plasma into the shanty town. It could have followed them in, but they, with their open canopies and slim frames, were much better suited to navigate this maze.

"We're out in the fucking sticks, Major!" Willis did his best to follow to way of lesser resistance, avoiding metal and concrete to break through wood, plastic and rubber.

The gunner, Private First Class Mitchell, loudly agreed before incinerating a Grunt carrying a fuel rod cannon. The little bastards popped up from every corner, but from where he stood, he could see them easily enough.

"You secure that shit, Rangers!" Dahl, deep inside, felt like bitching along with them. "Corporal, take a right turn, Sovja Highway should be just a klick…" Green bolts smacked into the Major's chest plate and he rose to return fire.

The Spectres soon emerged from the junk yard and ripped through chain link fence meant to keep the inhabitants away from the road.

Once on the highway, about a meter above ground level, the convoy was once again showered with plasma and the right side of Willis' helmet somehow liquefied on its own accord.

The man screamed but his hands never left the wheel. It was Dahl who ripped the thing off his skull and put out the fire in Corporal Willis' hairs.

"Shit! Shit! We're never going to make it, man!"

"Can it, Corporal, you're a Ranger, not some candy ass JROTC, act like it!" Grunts and Jackals, hiding behind the fences, in the shanty town, did their best to hit the fast moving vehicles with low velocity energy weapons, most of the shot either crackling far ahead or way behind.

Dahl's M392, however, did not suffer that problem; he downed enemy shooters with double taps, sometime using the gun's high power to kick through sheet metal and instruct those dumb bastards on the difference between cover and concealment.

"Major! Roadblock ahead!" Roadblock… Willis had one hell of a sense of humor! There was a fucking Vulture gunship burning in the way, from one fence to the other, and Jackals with Carbines and Beam Rifles waited for the Rangers in front of it.

Mitchell kept them pinned while the convoy dived off the road and back into the slums.

"Geez Louise!" Exclaimed the left wing's passenger, pulling a length of chain link fence out of his midsection, "This ride sucks!"

This time, however, they found a path large enough for them to fit in, some permanent building showing up here and there, crawling with Covies.

"Take a left!" Dahl's eyes flipped from his map to the road, to the sights of his rifle.

"Where?! There's a roach motel there!"

Looking up, the Major realized they were already ten meters past the aforementioned street. "Shit! Willis, you need to slow down!"

"This shit again?!" Their whole vehicle was blackened and clipped now, fuel rods and plasma bolts ramming the road from overhead.

"Just go left 'soon as you can!" Dahl turned to Mitchell, "They're on the rooftops, suppress them!"

Silhouettes scurried against the sky line, raining down a myriad of colorful death on the exposed convoy.

The Spectres went to fast for the Rangers to get a clear shot, and by the time one rooftop was supressed, they were already two buildings further.

A fact colorfully explained by the Private, "Fucking bolts move like snails on Ritalin!"

"Be grateful that's what they're shooting us with!"

As if on a cue, another fuel rod impacted the ground just next to Victor 2, almost knocking it off the road. "Yeah, right!"

The whole convoy steered left a block further and, once again, "Roadblock!"

Looking back forward, Dahl was faced with a pile of burned out vehicles, fifty meters ahead, crawling with excited Grunts.

"Convoy, halt!"

They stopped hallway down the street. There were mostly just permanent buildings now, mostly bombed out concrete, all of which were crawling with Covies determined to blast the Spectres to pieces.

Dahl hopped off his vehicle, cursing under his breath, and walked a dozen paces down the street. A few shots whizzed past him, but most were intended for the vehicles.

Yeah, down there, thirty meters out… An alley or a secondary street, just large enough for them to fit in.

Plasma and fuel rods splashed against the walls, explosive needles bouncing off all over, making it safer to just walk back in the middle of the street.

He hopped in his seat to find Willis bleeding from the left cheek, tiny purple shards shining amongst the blood, and Mitchell was slouched over his weapon, an unexploded needle stuck in his neck.

One of the three Rangers sitting out back pulled him down and took his place. The needle glowed,but never detonated. Bad fuse or something?

A new volley of needles bounced off the vehicle's armor and Dahl snapped out of it. "Thirty mikes, three o'clock, punch it!"

Willis did as told and saw the alley at the last second. "No way it'll fit, dude!"

The gunner, doing his best to keep the rooftops clear, laughed at that, "That's what she said!"

All those bastards on the rooftop had to do from that point onward was shoot straight down and a curtain of plasma rained on the Rangers. One burned Dahl's wrist and his weapon, knocking it out of his hand, but the Major instantly switched to his sidearm and began firing at exposed limbs overhead.

The new gunner had his arms severed at the elbows while West reported multiple wounded, including himself. They emerged in another street, and went left, toward the city proper.

The firing seemed to slow down, the Covies apparently momentarily outpaced, and Dahl took this opportunity to take stocks, "Who's injured?"

Basically, everyone. He rephrased, "Okay, okay, who's not?"

No response.

"Fuck!"

The convoy screamed past abandoned buildings for five minutes, every able bodied shooter either scoping the rooftops or patching each other up.

After ten minutes, Willis took a hand off the wheel to feel his face. He did not look at the Major, but said, hesitantly, afraid to jinx himself "I think we made it, Sir, we're out of the red zone!"

That they were. Dahl looked over his shoulder, visually inspecting his men.

Two dead, four would be driving a desk for the rest of their career, everyone else would most likely make it through. He opened a channel with the whole convoy and congratulated them with his usual succinctness, "Damn fine work, Rangers, Blackburn will be proud."

A few answered with "Ou-ah!"s, but not many.

They were almost inside the city proper when West reported spotting three Pelicans at three o'clock. Everyone turned to look, wondering where these 'Air assets' had been hiding all that time, but saw only a four stories tall building.

"You sure, Lieutenant?"

"With all due respect, sir, I'm a smartass, not retarded, there were three DC-seven-seven bearing on our position."

Dahl kept the convoy going and, sure enough, the three birds, sporting Marine Corps colors, soon hovered over them, a man roaring in loudspeakers that they were authorized to open fire if the Rangers did not stop.

"ODSTs?" Willis said the word like an insult.

"Seems that way. Convoy, halt!"

The Major stepped out and said nothing as most of his men did the same, bloodied and bruised like gingerbread men fresh out of a blender.

Four black armored Marines, ODSTs, fast roped out of the Pelicans. This prompted a dismissive sneer from Willis. "Are these jokers trying to impress us?"

West, limping all the way to the front of the convoy, arrived just as the ODSTs made it to Dahl.

"What?" Asked the Signal Specialist, a wide and honest smile painted on his face, "Your pilot can't land this thing? Tell him autoland's the red handle market EJECT…"

The ODST leader, a Lieutenant called Korva, crossed his arm and tilted his head, "Very funny, you have any other good ones like that, or can we start acting grown up again?"

Before West could make things interesting, however, Dahl took over, "We're under direct orders from General Stensworth, high priority, so either provide support or get out of our way, _Lieutenant._"

That should have gotten them out of the way, but the ODST just shook his helmet. "Your orders have been overridden, Cole Protocol is enacted."

"Afraid I don't know what this has to do with an injured Marine." That much was true, Dahl didn't see any way this one kid at the back of West's vehicle could compromise Cole Protocol. Maybe he knew things, but they wouldn't have sent him alone on the frontlines then…

The ODSTs just pushed past Dahl, Willis and West to inspect every Spectre one by one. The Rangers followed, but said nothing, the Major transmitting a video feed from his helmet straight to Colonel Blackburn.

When they found the Marine, the ODSTs made sure to check on their brethren's condition before rifling his pockets. Personal items were put back in their place and they only took a single thumb sized chip.

"AI core…" West whispered, pulling the Company's own AI from his helmet.

The ODSTs were about to insert the chip in a handheld, tricorder-like device when Blackburn gave the order.

"Don't let them wipe it, Major, I'll take full responsibility, just get that chip!"

"Lieutenant!" Dahl's tone was worried and, when the ODST turned to face him, the reason why became clear.

The Lieutenant's visor shattered and he fell back as Dahl jumped on top of him, punching the Marine's helmet with his own twice before ripping the chip from his limp hand and tossing it to West. The ODST took that opportunity to strike back at the Major's unarmoured head, catching him on the right temple and knocking him off in one punch.

"What the fuck!" Yelled the man, pulling his broken helmet off, "That the best you've got? You fucking boyscout!" He turned to West, shaking with anger, saliva and blood dripping from his mouth. Hand it over, _now!" _

Lieutenant West took a step back and cleared his throat, "Hey, sure thing, man, Cole Protocol and all…" He threw the chip underhand and the Marine caught it, not wasting any time to jam it in the handheld device and wipe it clean.

* * *

**A/N: Added the origin of every Platoon, since not all of them are actual Rangers. I'd also like to note that though these guys are the U.S. 1st Batalion 75th Ranger Regiment's spiritual successors, they're not American troops and vary from their predecessors in multiple ways. Why? Because I friggin' say so. You hardcore military will immediately realize how.**

**Now, for those not as well versed in military jargon, let me explain a bit: **

_Hammer Actual means the leader of Hammer Company. Blackburn answers to that callsign, as well as Hammer 1-1 Actual, though that's supposed to be Dahl. Dahl should be in charge of Hammer, but Black outranks him, making Dahl his XO and somewhat redundant._

_West leads Hammer 1-1 on the paper, however, because they're a SigSpec unit and he's in charge of this aspect._

_Hammer 1 means the first platoon of Hammer company and Hammer 1-1 means first squad of first platoon. _

_Hammer 1-1 counts eight members, including Blackburn, Dahl and West, same goes for all units except 1-2 and 1-3, who a SPECWAR squads and have only six members. _

_SPECWAR is the division Noble Team, from Reach, is attached to, but mostly represents the UNSC's version of Green Berets here._

_Using the U.S. Tier system (Navy SEALS being Tier 1, Green Berets Tier 2 and Rangers Tier 3), Hammer Company counts Tier 3 (Rangers) and Tier 2 (Hammer 1 and 2) members, whereas ODSTs and SPARTANs would be Tier 1. _

_There are two exceptions to this; Hammer 5, a mechanized infantry (Regular UNSC Army units with Warthogs and Elephants) and armoured division (scattered remnants of a whole division) and Hammer 3, which replaced losses from an Army engineering corps... Hellbringers, more accurately... That's guys with heavy armour and flame throwers._

Hammer Company: Col. Blackburn/ Mjr. Dahl

Hammer 1 = Command Group/SIGSPEC/SpecOps  
**75th Ranger**  
**Army SPECWAR Group 4, Charlie/Delta Squads, Permanently Attached to Hammer Company.**

Hammer 1-1: Lt. West  
Hammer 1-2: Sgt. Delacroix  
Hammer 1-3: Sgt. Krauser  
Hammer 1-4: 1st Sgt. Caleb  
Hammer 1-5: KIA

Hammer 2 = Rifle Platoon.

**Army SPECWAR Group 6, 4th Platoon, Permanantly Attached to Hammer Company.**

Hammer 2-1: Lt. Norrisson  
Hammer 2-2: Sgt. Peterson  
Hammer 2-3: Sgt. Endrose  
Hammer 2-4: Sgt. Frank  
Hammer 2-5: Sgt. Keller

Hammer **3** = Heavy Weapons Platoon.  
**75th Ranger**  
**Army Engineer Corps, 6th Division, 1st Hellbringers**

Hammer 3-1: Lt. Laurent  
Hammer 3-2: Sgt. Jackson  
Hammer 3-3: Sgt. Ortega  
Hammer 3-4: Sgt. Vargas  
Hammer 3-5: Sgt. Orlev

Hammer 4 = Rifle Platoon  
**75th Ranger**

Hammer 4-1: Sgt. Carter  
Hammer 4-2: Cpl. Wilkins  
Hammer 4-3: Cpl. Beauprés  
Hammer 4-4: PFC. Smith  
Hammer 4-5: PFC. Gosinov

Hammer 5 = Armored/Mechanized Platoon.

**8th Armored Division, Remnants, Permanently Attached to Hammer Company.**  
**9th Mechanized Infantry Division, C Company, 1st Platoon, Permanently Attached to Hammer Company.**

Hammer 5-1: Lt. Cody  
Hammer 5-2: Sgt. Beller-Faust  
Hammer 5-3: Cpl. Mendez  
Hammer 5-4: Sgt. Jones  
Hammer 5-5: Sgt. Higgs

Hammer 6 = Rifle Platoon  
**75th Ranger**

Hammer 6-1: Cpt. Pierce  
Hammer 6-2: Lt. Tchenkov  
Hammer 6-3: Sgt. Volker  
Hammer 6-4: Sgt. Tennison  
Hammer 6-5: Sgt. Xian

Hammer 7 = Rifle Platoon  
**75th Ranger**

Hammer 7-1: Lt. Cole  
Hammer 7-2: Sgt. Hoyt  
Hammer 7-3: Sgt. Steel-Halls  
Hammer 7-4: KIA  
Hammer 7-5: Sgt. Lafayette

Hammer 8 = Rifle Platoon  
**75th Ranger**

Hammer 8-1: Lt. Shen  
Hammer 8-2: Sgt. Coste  
Hammer 8-3: KIA  
Hammer 8-4: KIA  
Hammer 8-5: Cpl. Webbs

Hammer 9 = Heavy Weapons Platoon  
**75th Ranger**

Hammer 9-1: Lt. Carpenter  
Hammer 9-2: Sgt. Wilson  
Hammer 9-3: Cpl. Turner  
Hammer 9-4: Sgt. Popov  
Hammer 9-5: Sgt. Mbanta


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: jarhead76: Nope, never been in the military myself, tried to join the French Foreign Legion and Canadian Forces, but got in trouble on both accounts. See rules at the bottom of this chapter, you'll understand :P **

**Yeah, ODSTs are the best of the Marines, though they tend to think they're the second coming...**

**And I like to think Dahl and Korva are practically the same guy in different branches, they just have conflicting orders they're both determined to accomplish. What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Helmets get banged up :)**

**Anyway, if you spot anything I got wrong, go ahead and let me know!**

A shotgun, impressive and useful as it is for crowd control, is a poor choice for firefights , which is why Blackburn switched to the long barrelled M6J Carbine the moment things got heated.

Between themselves, the four SPECWAR squads accompanying him were having no trouble at all dealing with aliens before he could squeeze a shot out, but the old Colonel did not let that get to him, nor did he let his guard down for one moment.

They crossed the shanty town with care and precision, watching their corners as the morning sun rose over the skyline, casting odd shadows all over the place.

The Covies were confused, some chasing Dahl's convoy, others attempting to flank Norrison, heading south and straight for Black's platoon.

He took cover behind a UNSCDFMC marked crate and scoffed at the mess of letters making up the Marine Corps' acronym.

His boys kept a six meter spread and tight fire discipline, calling every shot and every single target.

The squad comms. Were flooded with "Contact, north-east, by that bus!" and "Tangos due north, watch for RPGs!", soon followed by "Scratch one!" or "Tango down!".

A private to his right called out a kamikaze Grunt and Black popped from cover to give the bright yellow bastard on in the head and two in the chest. The little guy went off in a blue cloud of plasma, but had accomplished its task and a pair of Elites, armed with Carbines, sprung from cover, lining up clean shots with the Colonel's skull.

Black dropped, but knew he'd never have time to reach safety; it would take half a second for his head to disappear behind the barrel and the Covies were already bracing for their weapons' recoil.

It was Demetro's AM rifle's recoil they felt instead. One round, angled through the first's skull and into the second's hip. Black hit the floor before seeing anything else and sprung back up like an indecisive prairie dog.

An indecisive prairie dog armed with an M6J Carbine.

The second Elite, the one left with a functioning brain, was gone…

He'd show up sooner or later. Black dropped the issue, the fear trying to crawl up his spine like a feral beast. He did not let it.

About twelve Jackals, under the orders of a red armored Elite, formed a tortoise by overlapping their shields high and wide. They stepped forward and on the dead Covenant's corpse, heading straight for Black's position with plasma grenades flying out over the edge of their defences.

"Delacroix!" The Sarge's team should have been somewhere to his left, "Get me some suppressive fire three meters ahead of my position!"

Delacroix took three seconds to evaluate before answering, time the tortoise used to get halfway to his hidey hole.

The M739 machine gun's fire missed the formation by about two meters, so Blackburn corrected them and, just as the Jackals were close enough to spit on him, their shields turned red and two were killed instantly by the sheer volume of fire, another two gravely injured.

The Jackals backed off, but not their Commander; he flicked his plasma sword on and leapt in the air like a Velociraptor to land three steps behind the Colonel.

"Demetro." Black never turned, even as the vapor trail shook his eardrums, he just kept gunning down retreating Jackals.

"Tango down, Colonel… What would you do without me?"

Now all out of targets, Blackburn kneeled to check his handheld motion tracker. "I'd get another sniper…"

He could only see about half his forces, probably even less of the Covenant's. They wouldn't make it in a sweeping formation like this, not even with two SpecOps and Recon squads…

"Hammer Actual to…" Black had a blank. Too much adrenaline in the last minute… Hell it had just been fifty seconds since he shot the kamikaze Grunt! "Look, let's just call you guys Hammer 0-1 until we un-tangle this. Hammer 0-1, converge on my position."

There were a couple of amused confirmations and he soon found himself in a flashback of his first battle, amidst a cluster of hard ass professionals, trying to bag in a few kills and figure out where his allies were and failing at both. He had to check his motion tracker to know they had reduced the spread to three meters and were now in a circular formation around his location.

This said a lot, as he'd tried to push forward to the cluster of barrels, five meters ahead, for three minutes, at least, and had always been forced back to cover. The kids from 1-2 cleared that location in three seconds, as an afterthought, to maintain formation.

"Hammer 5," He then called, about as sheltered now as he would be at Fort Aleksandr, two hundred meters underground, "this is Hammer Actual, do you read? Over."

Twenty seconds passed, two isolated firefights began and ended in Black's vicinity, and got a response just as he was about to try again.

"This is Hammer 5-1, send traffic." Cody's radio operator had all the personality of a brick, even under fire, she sounded asleep.

"Give me a SITREP, what does it look like on your end? Over."

She reported no casualties in fifth platoon, but they were having a hard time maneuvering the streets and taking out blockades. Expect a five minutes delay for EVAC.

"Nothing ever takes five minutes, 5-1! Just hurry, Hammer out!" Black switched the radio off and shouted at Hammer 0-1 to get moving.

"Hammer 2 and Hammer 3 are taking heavy fire and 5 won't get there in time to assist…" He looked at his motion tracker when another brief firefight interrupted his orders, "That means we need to move in on their flank and provide support until then! Lock and load, Rangers, time to drop the hammer!"

"Ou-ah!" Even though not a single of these guys was officially a Ranger, most of them had been before joining Army SPECWAR and the rest identified themselves to Hammer Company more than they did their actual division, making them Rangers as well, as far as they cared.

This time, it was not by stages, as Blackburn had ordered previously; they advanced as one man, moving in an egg shaped formation with riflemen at the edges, a CQC expert at the top and heavy gunners bringing up the rear. The Colonel, Delacroix, Krauser, Endrose and Keller stayed in the center, coordinating everything.

This was ideal for mutual support during fast deployments, especially when faced with a steady stream of hostiles as they were now, but also meant none of his men could seek cover for too long, otherwise they'd open a weak point in the formation. The moment one came under fire, everyone else had to supress or disable the enemy with clockwork precision, or the whole thing would fall apart.

Fortunately, Hammer 0-1's soldiers were professionals honed to near-perfection and they crossed the slums at a brisk pace, climbing over wooden fences or merely kicking them down in places, breaching shacks with one or two men teams.

One shack contained an injured Elite, missing its left arm, and the Rangers breaching in barely had time to drop its shields before one of them had an energy sword driven through his chest.

The Elite died before it could complement the impalement with a swing what would cut its victim in half, but the Ranger still fell, gasping for breath as the sword's security disintegrated the hilt.

Black saw it all, but couldn't do more than order someone to carry that man. He was still somewhat mobile and only a single Ranger was required to help him move.

Many thought Covenant weapons were insta-kill doomsday device, and some of the higher tier ones were, but Needlers, Plasma Rifles and Pistols and Carbines would only kill someone if they hit a vital area, like the torso and the head, the real secret of war is to incapacitate your enemy, but keep him screaming.

Shoot at the center of mass and you've got a bad guy bleeding out who'll need two other bad guys to carry him, that's three guys who won't be shooting at you, plus one who'll be taking up supplies for a week or so without being able to do anything useful. Kill a dude, and they'll just loot his gun and ammo.

Some UNSC strategist argued the Covenants were unaffected by such tactics and kept fighting to the death, but Blackburn had never seen evidences that they held on any longer than his Rangers would.

In fact, this Ranger, with a cauterized lung and spitting out blood to his left, would likely be dead by next morning, yet he kept going, firing his sidearm with deadly accuracy. Adrenaline. Most Covies didn't have that, meaning when they were done, they were done, no untapped reserves, no second breath.

Elites might be the Apex when it came to strength, aggression and speed, humans, his Rangers in particular, were neatly superior in terms of stamina and survivability.

Pursuit predators is what the documentaries had called humanity.

A Grunt, cowering under a cluster of old blankets, tried to run away at the sound of Black's footstep, but the Colonel swiftly shot it in the back of the head.

Not center of mass. No shoot to wound. It was all the compassion this old soldier could muster.

They proceeded this way over two kilometers before being greeted by a stray M68 Gauss Cannon. The round ripped through a cage containing a dead chicken, shattered a shack as though it were a card castle and whistled thirty centimeters over Delacroix's head, ripping her helmet off and knocking her down.

Krauser got on the horn in a heartbeat "Hammer 5, Hammer 5! Be advised, we're catching stray fire from your 'Hogs, over!"

They requested an exact fix on Hammer 0-1's location and, though Cody's radio operator never broke the monotony of her speech pattern, she sounded close to surprised, "You're right behind them, Hammer 1, advise you relocate, over."

Blackburn ordered his platoon to the east and raised Demetro on the comm.

"Soldier, might I ask you why we're directly in fifth platoon's line of fire?" He had time to crawl under a flatbed truck, pick out three Jackals looking in the wrong direction and eject the M6's magazine before getting an answer.

"Sorry, sir, hostile snipers in the area, I won't be available for… Five mikes." Demetro, despite being a sniper, sounded far tenser than even Cody's radio operator and that struck Black as odd, but these were not stereotypes in a war movies, these were actual people, sweating, eating and thinking, they each had personalities, worries and history of their own and he really shouldn't expect anything from his men before truly knowing them.

"Nothing ever takes five minutes, Ranger, just get it done, over!"

Demetro was no longer a Ranger, truth be told, he'd been retired for half a decade and live in New Cheops as a security contractor when the Covenant had shown up, putting him outside the chain of command and that made Blackburn uneasy.

The man was skilled, that was cold hard fact, but anything beyond that would be mere speculation. He slept a lot, rarely ever bothered to report and used a World War Two era Anti-Tank rifle's replica.

Odd shit.

Black took cover in an abandoned meat locker, the building it had once been attached to now completely disintegrated or long since scavenged by the locals. The locker was empty, so he kneeled, whipped out _Daffy_ and held it toward the door.

Leading from the front is all good and brave, but you also have to _lead_.

"Dahl!" He called, his command issue radio piercing the thick plating of his hideout with ease, "Talk to me, do we still have the package? Over."

A Jackal with a Beam Rifle entered the locker backward, its overloaded rifle smoking and bullets pinging after it. Before the Colonel could do or say anything, however, a frag rolled in the dust and at the Covenant's feet.

He didn't push that bird-lizard bastard away to save its life, only to get it out of his way as he kicked the explosive out in one motion and shut the thick door in another.

The locker rocked, plunged in darkness, and Black swung the door back open, "Friendly fire!" He roared out to whoever would listen, before spinning on the spot to take aim at the Covie.

It had dropped its gun in the commotion and made no attempt to recover it, only looking in awe at the human before him.

"Y-You… Saved…" It articulated with difficulty, its mouth unused to human speech, though the little guy clearly knew Spanish from somewhere. Black didn't, but his translation software quickly identified and, well, translated the words.

The Jackal was shocked beyond words, apparently, and that puzzled Black enough for him to put Dahl on standby. He never lowered his shotgun, however.

"That I did, and if you don't want me to return on that decision, you'll keep your hands where I can see them." It raised both talons in the air and Black relieved it of its weapons. "Now go sit in the corner."

The thing carried a Plasma pistol and a purple crystalline dagger, in addition to the discarded rifle, all of which Black strapped to his combat webbing before contacting Dahl once more.

"Major, send traffic."

"Copy, Hammer Actual," Dahl spoke softly, contrasting with Blackburn's booming voice, "I confirm; package is secure, we're entering Fort Aleksandr now. Got some bad news, sir."

Black peeked out the meat locker; to the East Hammer 5 was doing its best to reach Hammer 2 and 3, about two blocks further North-West, while Hammer 0-1 moved in from the South. The Covies were set up in the middle of it all, getting more troops from the North and just about anywhere they could squeeze past the Rangers.

"Are there any other kind?" He asked, retreating back to cover.

"Medusa is offline, Colonel, chip wiped clean, over."

Medusa. The Company's AI, in charge of all the minute planning details and turning a dozen random reports into a clear picture of the battlefield. Caleb's boys would have some extra work on their hands.

Black thought about asking how that had happened, but then remembered his instructions; Don't let them wipe that chip.

Dahl had followed orders to the letter, how he'd exchanged the chips, however, went beyond the Colonel's imagination.

"Copy that, Major, Blackburn out." He switched to a wider frequency next, contacting all Chalk leaders currently engaged, "I've got a secure location for our wounded, home in on my signal and bring them to me, Over!"

That would put them directly opposite the EVAC site, with a cluster of hostile shooters in between them and their ticket home, but the building that used to rise around this locker had been picked apart, leaving only the concrete foundations and cellar, with windows at eye level every three meters and a single staircase leading in.

They would bring their casualties down into that cellar, not the meat locker; even Blackburn didn't have that much irony in him. The locker could be sealed from the outside, but not the inside, it would make for a decent holding cell until they could evacuate that Jackal.

And then came the matter of evacuation. Hammer 5 could never punch through and Norrison reported five casualties, in addition to Krauser's wounded guy and Laurent's steadily dwindling fuel reserves.

The Victors weren't going to his Shooters and his Shooters would not go to the Victors. "Hammer 5 Actual, this is Hammer Actual; change in plan, Cody, we'll get out another way, you boys head North-West and take some of the pressure off of us, think you can do that? Over."

Delacroix appeared in Black's field of vision, carrying Krauser's injured man with three healthy Rangers in toe. He waved them over and directed the lot to the cellar, ten paces to the left.

"Hammer Actual, this is Hammer 5-1, please confirm that last, you want us to advance on enemy position?" Even Cody's radio sounded doubtful.

"Negative, I want you to head just North of that, over."

"Ah… Negative on that, Colonel, area is too hot, multiple hostile armors spotted…" The girl sounded bored as ever and that only furthered Black's annoyance.

"Hammer 5-1, I didn't ask the weather! I had you guys bring AT ordnance for exactly that purpose; you're Rangers now, if you can't keep up don't step up, Hammer out."

Four squads, twenty four men, half of them too injured to walk on their own and five of those on stretchers arrived from the North-West. Most of the uninjured ones were Hellbringers, out of fuel for their main weapons.

Black was about to order they scavenge Covenant hardware when the Rangers too injured to fight convinced them to take their guns.

A Ranger's rifle is his best friend, an extension of his being, it's the device with which they do their job and save their buddy's life, to part with it on a combat zone is like going at an office meeting wearing lingerie.

And Hellbringers weren't even Rangers, making this akin to lending your Rolex and Italian tailor suit to some vagrant in the street with the promise that he'll bring everything back in perfect condition.

Black turned to the Jackal, who looked up in fright as the man stepped out of the locker. "Stay here." Was all he said before closing and sealing the door.

* * *

This can be see written on a chalk board in Hammer Company's staging area.

As per Lieutenant Edward West's request, the following rules have been instated to supplement the UNSC Army Rangers' lack of guidance in these particular gray areas.

-A UNSC Ranger may not threaten anyone with black magic.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not threaten officers with black magic. Ever.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not reffer to First Sergeant Caleb as 'Mum'.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not reffer to Major Dahl as 'Dad'.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not reffer to Colonel Blackburn as 'Grand-pa'. Ever.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not get sillicone breast implants.  
-A male UNSC Ranger may not get sillicone breast implants.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not purchase anyone's soul while on duty.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not requisition anyone's soul as part of the war effort.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not say "The prophecy has fortold..." when answering an officer.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not adopt stray Grunts.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not adopt stray Marines.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not adopt anything or anyone but a dog.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not adopt a Crocodog.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not be adopted by a Crocodog.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not enlist a Crocodog in the UNSC Army Rangers.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not call ODSTs pigeon droppings.  
-A UNSC Ranger may call ODSTs just about anything else, so long as it's actually funny.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not dance YMCA in a live fire area.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not line Standard Issue helmet with tin foil to prevent mind control. They already are.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not fire a superior officer.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not fire his/her fellow Rangers. Even incompetent ones.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not chew gum during drill unless they brought enough for the whole Company.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not requisition half a ton of chewing gum on Company funding.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not requisition half a ton of chewing gum using personal funds.  
-Corporals do not outrank Colonels.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not start a SITREP by the words "Once upon a time..."  
-A UNSC Ranger may not start a SITREP by the words "The voices in my head said..."  
-A UNSC Ranger may not challenge fellow Rangers to "Pistols at Dawn".  
-A UNSC Ranger may not challenge anyone to "Pistols at Dawn"!  
-A UNSC Ranger may not do anything that causes them to giggle for more than ten seconds just thinking about it.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not replace a Trainee's smoke grenades with tear gas. That's just mean.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not mark a minefield with a smiley face.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not declare war on mosquitos in the name of the UNSC.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not declare war on anything in the name of anyone.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not trade their CO to the Marine Corps.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not trade their CO to the Covenant. Seriously?  
-A UNSC Ranger may not dance around burning communal graves. At least not when people are watching.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not teach ODSTs offensive things in foreign languages under the guise of teaching them useful sentences.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not drink alcoholic beverages on duty.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not have an IV of Jack Daniel while on duty. Or at any moment, really.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not reply "I'm Drunk/Stuffed/High/Stoned" to any question asked by an officer.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not ask an officer if they are Drunk/Stuffed/High/Stoned or other synonyms.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not ask an officer if they were born that way or made so by the usage of illicit substances.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not ask an officer if they are retarded.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not use the base's PA system to broadcast the soundrack of a porno movie.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not sing "Burn baby burn!" around Hellbringers.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not sing "Burn baby burn!" around Helljumpers.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not teach POWs how to pick a lock.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not shoot said POWs when they succeed.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not use a plasma sword to disprove "The pen is mightier than the sword."  
-A UNSC Ranger may not stab fellow Rangers with a pen.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not drink three quarters of food coloring before urine tests.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not attempt suicide with Mint tablets and Cola. It just makes a mess.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not teach local children to insult ODSTs.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not be caught teaching the above.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not start a revolution.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not join the Insurection.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not demand a cavity search to passing MPs.  
-A UNSC Ranger may demand a cavity search to passing MPs, who will be glad to oblige.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not bring electronic pets into Regiment HQ. (That's actually UNSCDF policy, look it up)  
-A UNSC Ranger may not declare their bunk independent territory.  
-A UNSC Ranger may not use MREs as personnal lubricant. You sick, sick bastards...  
-A UNSC Ranger may not convince NCOs they are growing bald. Even though most of them are...  
-A male UNSC Ranger does not get "That time of the month..."  
-A female UNSC Ranger may not recieve a purple heart for getting "That time of the month" on duty.  
-A UNSC Ranger may especially not touch the Colonel's coffee. Ever.

**A/N: Do look up Skippy's list of things he can't do for more fun :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Hammer 5 reported losing a Warthog as Lieutenant Laurent's men retreated to the basement. Not all of them were flamer boys, a few totted crew served HMGs, Gauss Cannons and mortars while a few more carried regular assault rifles. The weapon crews had to make due with SMGs and sidearms so long as their guns were not assembled, but that would not be an issue for long.

Black stood in the middle of the empty carcass of a building, way too tired and _blasé_ to see cover whenever a stray shot whistled by. He waved two HMG crews and one Gauss Cannon over and they broke from the flow of armored Rangers diving down the stairs and into the cellar.

"Hold here just a second!" He thundered over the cacophony of gunfire. They six men took cover behind the meat locker. "Delacroix, this is Hammer 1-1, I need some shooters up here, over!"

The sergeant, directly beneath him, took stock and replied within half a minute "I can spare four, I repeat, four shooters, over!"

He looked around. Most structures in this place were wooden and sheet metal shacks, some tents and other such temporary constructions, there were only three actual buildings in their new bunker's vicinity; a single story high store with massive windows and most likely two ways in, to the right, a five stories apartment complex just ahead, in between the Covies and the Rangers, with four entry points just on this side, and, to the left, was a fountain, dried up and with stone walls rising a waist height.

The fountain, thirty meters back the way they'd come, would provide a wide firing angle, but little protection and would be too far away to help or get help from the main force, the apartment complex would be impossible to secure and the store faced the cellar, but couldn't open fire on the Covenant forces until they were at the Ranger's throat.

"Send 'em up, Hammer out!"

The other direction, opposite the apartment complex, had once been a playground, but had long since been turned into some kind of junkyard. He sent two of Delacroix's riflemen and the Gauss Cannon to set up a heavy weapon position there and had the rest do the same in the storefront.

This way, the Rangers would have this area locked down tight, firing outward from the cellar and inward from the store and playground, with a "recoilless rifle" ready to engage any Covenant that stepped out onto the street.

They had a decent LZ set up, now they needed a god damn VTOL to come and get them… Command informed him there was no air support available at this point, so he fell back on an alternative plan.

"Hammer 1-1, this is Hammer Actual, come in." Plasma wheezed down from that same apartment building just as the HMGs were bolted in place, it only took a wave on Blackburn's part to the Gauss Cannon crew and toward the third floor windows to take care of those hostiles.

The left side perimeter, forty meters from the LZ, was being manned by Hammer 2's main forces while the right hand side was shared between 2-3, 1-3 and 2-5. The whole space at their back unprotected but for Delacroix's shooters covering the Recoilless rifle…

"Hammer Actual, Hammer 1-1 here, we hear you, over." Dahl sounded relieved, the tension in his voice a notch lower.

Black stepped up to the meat locker when Elites with Carbines began poking out from cover. "Say, Major, those ODSTs had VTOL transport, right?"

"Affirmative, Colonel, three Pelicans, over."

"Thank you, Dahl." He was about to switch frequencies when the Major's voice punched through again.

"Didn't catch that last, Hammer Actual, come again, over." Statics were growing thick, thanks to all that plasma flying around.

"I said solid copy, Major, Blackburn out!" Bouncing the signal off Laurent's radio, Black set up a direct line with the UNSC _Atlas_, a carrier in orbit.

"Rangers, this is Atlas, send traffic."

"Atlas, this is Hammer Company, you have Helljumpers operating in our vicinity." He gave the operator their exact coordinates, resisting the need to point out 'In the southern corner of Fuck and You.' "I would like a secure comm. Link with them."

"Please stand by…" The Radio contacted a superior, though Blackburn could hear none of it, and that superior denied the Colonel's request.

The air now thick with hostile fire, all coming from the other side of that locker, Blackburn ordered a controlled fallback by squads for whoever was still manning the outer perimeter, with orders to lay down traps as they went. Then, he went back to bureaucratic mode.

"Atlas, these men just assaulted one of my officers and disabled our Company's Support AI, if they fail to provide assistance when requested, I will be forced to consider them AWOL and issue a shoot on sight order, do you understand me? Over." The static would be his friend now, they could hear him just fine, and he'd been in the military long enough to decipher even the most garbled transmission, but they didn't have to know that.

"Hammer, Team Rubicon is operating as per lawful UNSCDF orders, confirmation code…"

"Didn't catch that last, Atlas, signal's breaking up, tell _Team Rubicon _to contact me on a secure channel within the next ten minutes or Cole Protocol won't be enforced and they will no longer be allowed to operate in the city. Hammer out!"

Enough talk, now was the time to fight. He leaned around the corner, spotted a silhouette doing the same across the street and almost squeezed the trigger when it made to quick circular gestures with its hand. Norrisson.

"Friendlies, two o'clock!" He roared to the kids downstairs, who echoed his words a dozen time. He then returned the gesture and a first squad ran out of the alley. "Provide cover! Focus on the grey building!" Sergeants boomed similar instructions over squad-wide radios, making Black somewhat redundant.

The squad made it to the meat locker easily enough and he directed them to the playground, to make sure the thing kept firing no matter what.

The next squad came from the left, Sergeant Krauser at their head, and Blackburn sent them to the burnt down school in between the store and the playground, to provide sniper support. The thing would provide little cover and plenty of entry points, but was ripe with concealed spots and evasion routes, not to mention its position, fifty meters away from the LZ, kept it out of the heat…

Looking at the blackened skeleton, Black could only scoff at his choice of word.

A third squad came in from the right and made it halfway to the locker when two men disappeared in a flash of green and red.

"Hunters!" The scream echoed all over the Rangers' lines, referring to the pair of knight Teutonic with plasma cannons stomping down the street, further right.

The guys in the store could have spat on them, were it not for the four meters high, half a meter thick concrete wall erected between the road and them.

That same wall protected those Hunters from the Recoilless in the playground, a fact they apparently knew well as they stopped just out of the danger zone and began raining fire on Norrisson's men, who found themselves sandwiched between the hostiles occupying the apartment building and those two walking tanks.

Laurent's men tried to get the mortars up, but found themselves unable to leave the stairs, pinned down by the sheer volume of enemy fire.

"Hammer 5, sound off!" Black needed something to change, he needed more firepower or some of the pressure taken off his troops.

Cody himself answered this time, "This is Hammer 5-1 Actual, we're taking heavy losses from enemy fast movers, I've got more wounded than ables, Colonel, whatever you're going to do, do it fast!"

Not good. And still no word on the ODSTs. He could order the rest of Hammer Company into the fight, but they would never make it in time.

"Just hang in there, Hammer 5, help is on its way."

Six Rangers reached Blackburn's position at that moment, his Neural Interface identifying them as Hammer 2-4. He had them stick to cover and await instructions.

Norrisson had only one squad left in the alley, his own. Most Companies would have Hammer 2 at large be under the Lieutenant command and placed a random Sergeant in charge of Hammer 2-1, but Blackburn's Rangers were running out of officers and most had to multi-task as squad leaders.

This meant the first squad of every Platoon had to be hard as nail, as they were always first in and last out.

Hard as nail or not, Norrisson's boys were catching fire from behind, above and could not move forward or they'd get incinerated. Whatever would happen to these men depended on the Colonel's next decision…

Blackburn sucked in a deep breath, flipping his fire selector to semi-auto, and roared over the firefight that he needed covering fire.

He lined up his sights with the first Hunter in time to see its guts splatter on the other big guy, who roared in anguish for a few seconds before being cut short by another shot.

Black laughed and ducked back behind cover, just in time to avoid a hail of needles and plasma.

"Nice shooting, Demetro!" He boomed in the radio, still grinning at the magnificent bastard's sense of timing.

The sniper's voice was nowhere near as enthusiastic "Wasn't me." He muttered, "Hiding in a ditch. Out."

A UNSC Marine Corps Pelican flew over the LZ, it's nose mounted gun showering Black and Hammer 2-4 with red hot shells.

Inside the apartment building, nothing fired anymore and Norrisson took that opportunity to get his men in cover. All of them, they crossed the street like Russian conscript at Stalingrad. Facing the wrong way, granted, but still.

Blackburn distributed the kids in a triangular formation, in between the playground, cellar and store, using only hand signal and completely oblivious to the smell of bacon his skin gave off whenever a shell slipped down his collar or bounced off his wrist.

Even when they were the fucking cavalry, ODSTs managed to be a pain in the ass.

Eight men rappelled down from the Pelican, all dressed in black and moving with the coordination of ballet dancers.

They were all kneeling, except their sniper, who crossed his legs, facing the street with his Spartan Laser ready.

A final soldier fast roped down. Green and gold, tall and menacing. A Spartan.

Blackburn had served with both IIs and IIIs, he respected both deeply. He still went up to the ODST Lieutenant first, just long enough to tell him where the wounded were and sum up the Rangers' defensive position.

Lieutenant Korva tried to object, going as far as physically holding thirty years' worth of nothing but combat experience and pent up PTSD variants. Black turned, looked at the ODST's glove, then his helmet.

"Stand down, Marine, now's not the time!" He barked, both men now upright, out in the open and in the middle of a war zone, "We both have our…" An explosion nearby drowned the words. Letting go of the Colonel's arm, Korva dropped to a knee, but Blackburn knew that, by the time you hear the blast, you're either safe or missing pieces, and this one was a plasma grenade, as common to him as birds singing.

"We both have orders!" He repeated, "You want that chip? You work for me, clear?!"

Korva nodded once and began distributing orders as Black walked up to the Spartan, who'd been standing there, MA5B in hand, scanning the rooftops and waiting for instructions.

His chest plate read 359 and he wore one of the new armor model, the Mark V.

A sound reminiscent of a bushfire filtered from the golden visor; "Colonel." The Spartan didn't salute, but nodded once, his golden visor reflecting the morning sun like a fireball stuck in amber.

"Petty Officer. Might I ask what your business here is?" He'd asked the ODSTs and their three Pelicans to come and pick his Rangers up, instead, they got one Pelican and a Spartan.

Said Pelican gracefully lowered itself on the makeshift landing pad, its ramp in line with the stairs and the nose mounted machine gun, poking out the opposite end of the meat locker, kept the Covies suppressed.

"Contingency, sir, I am to ensure all sensitive data on the planet is destroyed, as per Cole Protocol Article one." The Spartan might as well have been reading a shopping list. No wonder many though them to be machines.

"Well, you Navy boys sure have a hard on for that chip…" Black shook his head, getting back to the task ahead, "I have mechanized infantry stuck up shit creek right behind that block." He waved Norrisson over just as the man reached the meat locker, rejoining his squad already taking cover there. "I'm getting them out!" Finished Black, earning a puzzled look from his Lieutenant.

"Who, boss?"

"Cody's boys; you're in charge of the Evac, leave no man behind, I'll…" A Banshee screamed in the distance, its plasma cannons ablaze, and was brutally interrupted by a Ranger with a Jackhammer, firing from the cellar.

Belching smoke like a burning tire, the flyer tumbled straight for the Rangers' hidey hole, apparently intent on going out in a blaze of glory.

Another missile kicked the wreckage off course and it smashed ten paces to the left, burning and shaken with secondary explosions. The scorched cockpit made it all the way across the street and in the alley Norrisson had just left.

Even the Spartan found himself staring, but was the first to snap out of it, the brisk movement of his helmet snapping the others back into the game. "I'll take Krauser and Delacroix," Blackburn jerked a thumb toward the Spartan, "and squiddy here if he's up for it, and push through to them."

Norrisson blinked and shook his head, "Ya reckon yer jus' gonna walk 'cross that killzone, sir?"

The Spartan's voice interrupted Blackburn's response, "Out of time, Colonel." The Navy commando linked his neural lace with the Ranger's; Four Spirit dropships, coming in low and fast from the north, three minutes out. Soon, the Covies would have this block locked down tighter than an Admiral's butthole.

"1-2, 1-3, lock and load, we're heading out!" There were no Ou-ahs nor snide comments at that. Everyone, even these hardened Special Forces operators, was reaching their limit.

Not just in this firefight, as Blackburn quickly learned from the Spartan's uplink; Navy wouldn't hold much longer, the Army steadily pulled back to Fort Aleksandr, the Air Force struggled to fill in for the Navy and cover the retreating UNSC forces and the Marines were already gone and bragging about their kills.

Only Blackburn's Rangers, Korva's ODSTs and the local militias were still in this fight.


	5. Chapter 5

The Jackal yelped in surprise when Black's gloved hand leapt out of the doorway to wrap around its Carbine.

They were inside the apartment building, Black and his Rangers in the laundry while his new Covenant friend patrolled the ground floor's cross-shaped hallway.

What happened next was as natural to the Colonel as breathing; he moved his foe's weapon out of the way with one hand until it was pointed at the ceiling, and drew a thin, double edged knife, which he proceeded to plunge in his target's neck, following with a swift jerk that nearly tore the Covenant's head off.

Holding his victim up as it gurgled its last breath, Black made two sharp gestures with the hand that had been holding the rifle. The two squads spread out into the corridor, supressed handguns held at the ready. The roar of gunfire outside made stealth somewhat superfluous, but they kept a low profile as much as possible, so things didn't get any more exciting than they had to be.

"Better luck next time." Spoke Black to the Jackal as it went limp in his hands. He dropped it lightly and followed his men down the right corridor, Carbine held ready and Spartan in toe.

Two Rangers, on either side of the hallway, kept watch on both branches of the cross, while the rest walked up to the building's back door. Black and the Spartan crossed the dangerous area, then took up the positions, albeit on the upper part of the metaphorical cross, covering both men as they rejoined the rear guard.

Krauser's boys opened the way and the rest followed in silence. Krauser's Khans, as their uniform tags proudly proclaimed, were all former Rangers, but not necessarily of the 75th, a lot of them were actually Russian Rangers, search and rescue, before being sent to frontline combat where their experience at anything involving a rope and vanishing in a nuclear winter made them prime candidates for Special Forces. They had gladly integrated Hammer Company, however, relishing the prospect of having an army of badasses at their back, instead of all these cloak and daggers assignments they'd been given in the past.

The Khans kept a tight discipline and tighter focus as they fanned out in the ravaged streets. A sniper, set up half a klick down south, to their left, almost got lucky and managed to ruin a Rifleman's helmet cam, but never got a chance to adjust his aim, thanks to the glorious return of Demetro's antique rifle.

"Tango down." Whispered the man in Blackburn's helmet, the loud and gritty _clack-schlick! _Of a new round being chambered audible in the com link.

Delacroix's boys, coming from a much wider background and not close enough yet to have picked a name, stepped out of cover to fill in for the Khans, who proceeded to push forward once more.

They went North, on the right side of the apartment building, following the trail of destruction left by Cody's mechanized infantry.

Cody had opted not to bring any Scorpion tanks, as they would be easy targets in the crowded streets, not to mention at a disadvantage should some enemy mortar-tanks set up an indirect fire line. Instead, Fifth Platoon relied on an SP42 Cobra tank for heavy lifting and eight Warthogs of multiple variants for everything else.

At least three of these 'hogs now belched smoke in the middle of an intersection and, judging by the disco light show visible in between these columns of smoke, everyone else in Hammer 5 enjoyed their evening.

They reached the wrecked 'hogs and Black signaled for everyone to hold their position as he observed the scene, leaning on a wreck's bumper.

Cody's Cobra still gave as good as it got, its railguns methodically puncturing both the abandoned public library, to its left, and the apartment block on its right. The gunner could have blown both building to pieces with explosive shells, but that would have brought them down on top of their own troops, and they could not push forward, thanks to a man-deep trench dug directly into the street up ahead. The only way out would be toward the intersection, that same one Black's team now hid in.

Why hadn't Cody ordered his men back that way already? This puzzled Blackburn and both his Sergeants greatly. Were the Covenant forces laying fire from rooftops and windows somehow keeping them pinned, or had the regular Army Rangers of Fifth Platoon just panicked?

Looking around, Blackburn reminded himself he was as soft to Delacroix and Krauser as Cody's men were to him and decided not to be an idiot about it. "Thoughts? Let's hear some real clever stuff…"

One of the kids, about half the Colonel's age, lowered her rifle to face the officer, "The enemy's got lots of anti-personnel; MGs, small arms, so on. Not that much AT."

A good call, might even be relevant, though Blackburn failed to see how just yet.

Krauser took a peek and scowled, "Well fortified, I doubt we can storm those buildings, not from the ground anyhow…" A Pelican, or even a Hornet, would have gotten them a long way. Black reminded himself to get his hands on one and a good crew at the first opportunity.

"So we know what we're not going to do. Anything else?"

It was their large green companion who spoke next, "Your troops can't move until we take the pressure off them."

"I take it you have an idea?"

He nodded, "Yes sir. Your men all have gas masks?"

Blackburn stared blankly for almost ten seconds. Long enough for a warthog to be blown apart and Hammer 3-4 to call in an enemy mortar tank coming in from somewhere by the fountain, back near the extraction point.

What the _fuck_ could that Spartan be thinking behind that golden visor? Black's eyes settled on the public pool's massive aeration systems, facing the street directly. He understood and shivered despite the searing heat.

Raas' Alammee was leaning over a holographic representation of the human world from inside the guts of his cruiser, lesser Shipmasters assembled in the command room to hear their Fleetmaster's battle plan.

"The vermin is crumbling in space," announced the Shangheili warrior to the six warlords, "within the end of the day, our forces will have routed them…" He waved towards the space display, which showed Covenant forces outnumbered two to one by human frigates and destroyers, "We will subsequently be free to finish their forces on the ground and secure the relic for the prophets."

Approving grunts filled the room. Another world, another relic, another victory, nothing to add. They reported the situation aboard their respective vessels, then relayed reports from Fieldmasters, who swore they would crush the last remaining human warrior within the week.

It was Vtas' Ratammee, an Osoona of the prophets, who pointed out the infeasibility of that deadline. "Honourable Fleetmaster," called the Elite from the shadows, "Such bravado from our ground forces worries me…" He stepped forward, into the light and close to the holographic controls, "If you would…"

Alammee stepped aside and let the Osoona shift the display to the largest human city, a rotting speck in an otherwise pure desert of golden sand.

Within the city itself, one could see two forces throwing themselves at each other; the Covenant's warriors and the human resistance. Not their actual soldiers, these had ran away earlier in the day. The only opposition Alammee and his men faced was civilians with guns, and a lot of them.

Ratammee pointed out another cluster, to the north.

Tanks, assault vehicles, fortified positions and infantry formations running around through Covenant forces like children frolicking about in a daisy field.

"These are insignificant. They will be dealt with in due time." Said the Fleetmaster, dismissingly.

Ratammee snapped his mandibles in an indifferent shrug, "They took the relic from us, carved a path through the thick of our forces and are now holding off our advance toward the human base."

"_They will be dealt with in due time._" Insisted the Fleetmaster, threat obvious in his words. The Osoona retained his glibness and punched a few more keys, the holographic display switching to the cellar they had appropriated. Soldiers left the cellar quite often instead of staying put to avoid fire. They ran through plasma fire to set up traps in the paths of incoming Covenant forces, or flush out enemy hard points whenever one was set up.

They must have stormed the same building five times in eight minutes, though that fact was not exactly obvious on the accelerated display. Finally, they reached the live feed, just in time to see a human, stripped down of all his gear except for his clothes, a handgun and a small canister, run out from cover straight for a Wraith mortar-tank.

The man fired his pistol twice at the Wraith's gunner just as the latter was about to shoot. This dropped the Sangheili's shields long enough for a sniper to burn out his brain. The human then threw the canister straight into the opened gunner hatch and sprinted back to cover as the Wraith shivered, shaken with internal explosions which burst its rear armour open like a flower.

"This amount of skills speaks for itself. These humans are not _Marines_, nor are they Demons."

The Fleetmaster seemed genuinely interested. Unlike his Shipmasters, he tried to know his enemy, find their weakness and exploit them. Marines, for instance, were not defenders; they were aggressors, in their minds, their gear and their function. If you took away their ships, however, they became little more than a scared and confused fighting force. This group had not followed the usual pattern.

Unusual, but not alarming.

"I do not see how their identity is relevant." Insisted the Fleetmaster, after a moment of reflection.

Vtas' bowed slightly, "Then I shall endeavour to explain this situation as clearly as is possible." He looked at the assembled Shipmasters, who looked back with disdain, "The soldiers we see here are not those we are accustomed to fight, to treat them as such would be a mistake…" He fiddled with the controls a bit and changed the display to show another, smaller city of the human world. "My information indicates a single _Company_, two hundred individuals, is left, but there were more when we arrived…"

On the display, a Scarab and thousands of Covenant ground troops scurried across the sands, chasing down and exterminating the human residents of this doomed city. They progressed unimpeded until about halfway into the city, where the Scarab met an abrupt end, shells fired from inside garages and parking lots ripping its joints apart in a single salvo.

Human forces emerged from every alley to engage the Covenant in lightning strikes that were over as fast as they began. Traps and ambushed decimated the mighty invasion force in a skirmish that lasted all of eight days. By the time all ten thousand Covenant troops triumphed from the two to three hundred human fighters, there were no civilians left in a city of a hundred-thousand habitants.

"They call themselves Rangers…" The Osoona looked at an inscription on his wrist display, "Only one company remains, under the command of a human Fieldmaster name Blackburn. He commands fewer troops than the Fieldmaster we have in the city, but if my estimations are accurate, Blackburn and his Rangers will have this city back in human hands by the end of the week."

Alammee rammed his fist on the holographic display, causing it to flicker and lose color for a moment, "This is an outrage! You dare question the word of our Fieldmaster?! You may have the Prophet's favour, but I will not tolerate such heresy on my bridge. Out!" And he waved two honour guards over, ordering them to remove the Osoona from the command center.

Vtas' snickered inwardly but kept a calm and collected face. Everything had gone according to plan.


End file.
